It sounds as if all those aged seventy and over may shortly be required to go into self-imposed quarantine for a period of up to four months. For perhaps the first time in my life, I am tempted to lie about my age...
Mr B reminds me that when we first met, while I didn’t exactly lie about my age, I was somewhat economical with the truth. When he asked me my age, I replied that I
was “nearly seventeen.” Mr B - as trusting then as he is now - fired back at me: “So when’s your birthday?” I had to admit, a little shamefacedly, that it was six months away. In my defence, Your Honour, I was two weeks short
of six months off my seventeenth birthday, and therefore nearer seventeen than sixteen. Though only just...
Anyway, back to the reality of today. My fellow worshippers
at church this morning were well down on our usual number. Some who usually sit in the side pews had moved over into the central pews, as if to disguise the vacant places. Before the service, the churchwarden announced various changes to the service in line
with advice from the Archbish. At least, I’m assuming it was he, but as I was late again (held up by the requirement to make Mr B a fresh cup of coffee and to pour him a glass of “nice, cold milk” before I left the house) I missed the first
part of the announcement. I did catch the bit about refreshments being served as usual after the service (I am, as you know, Always Thinking About My Stomach) - though when it came to it, not many people stayed behind. I was interested to note that instead
of the usual plate of custard creams, digestives and jammy dodgers, we were presented with individually wrapped biscotti biscuits, the ones they serve with your coffee in restaurants. This didn’t please one young’un who refused to believe that
the treat on offer was, in fact, a Biscuit in Disguise.
What on earth will I do if we have to go into quarantine? I mean, what will I write about in the Daily
Blog if I can never travel into town on the Pulse bus, or go to choir, or chat with fellow shoppers in the Co-op (other supermarkets will be similarly out of bounds)? Just to make matters worse, how will Mr B manage without his Daily Sport?
I put this question to My Boy who rings me to check how we are. He suggests that I should be able to find all kinds of sport - including cricket Test Matches through the
ages, football games from present and previous seasons and every Olympic Games since they were first televised - somewhere on TV. He reckons his old man won’t actually remember the results of each sporting occasion and so will be able to watch
them all as if in real time. I rather think he has forgotten that Mr B has a phenomenal memory for sporting highlights, even if he can never remember what’s for dinner, however many times I have told him.
My Boy’s eldest son, when he takes over the phone from his Dad, points out (lest I forget) that behind every cloud is a silver lining. His school, he tells me, is already planning for the eventuality that it will have
to close and he took me through, in some detail, how he will be able to access all his normal lessons on-line via his trusty laptop. “The best thing is that I will be able to do all my lessons while I’m still in bed!” he informs me, triumphantly
- so teaching me a valuable lesson about always looking on the bright side.
I have resolved, therefore, that should I need to send myself and Mr B to Coventry
(and how very crowded that beautiful city will become) I shall have to embark upon a number of new projects to keep me happy and occupied and hopefully provide Blog-worthy material. In particular, I will be on the look out for projects which can be carried
out in the garden, thus ensuring plenty of opportunities to be out in the fresh air which, the clinicians tell me, is the best environment for fighting off infection.
What else, you ask? I could learn a new language! Write a Booker prize-winning book! Make all this year’s Christmas cards, employing all the various techniques I have learnt at my fortnightly craft group sessions! I could teach myself to crochet
- and when that fails I could resort to my knitting and make every one of the Tremendous Ten grandchildren a jumper (despite it being doubtful any of them would wear them, not being two years old anymore.)
It doesn’t sound too bad, does it?
Who am I kidding.....?